Archive for ‘sasquatch’

Overheated, Underhydrated and On An IV

This past weekend I had the unfortunate luck of having to deal with a situation that I had yet to experience to this extreme.  I’m sure you’ve all read, heard and are aware of what it can be like to be dehydrated.  I know, this is not some new topic, but even over the last seven years I have never personally experienced anything quite like what happened during my group run last Saturday that landed me squarely on the table of the East 86th Street City MD Urgent Care.  As a public service announcement, if you cannot handle some serious running TMI involving a potpourri of bodily fluids then this is NOT the post you should be reading.  Consider yourself forewarned.

On the morning of the Saturday in question (July 7, 2012), I was going about my normal Saturday morning routine preparing for my weekend long with runners from the Paragon Sports running group, Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation NYC Marathon team, and my own Team Sasquatch crew.  I got up, washed my face, got dressed, made race weight, had a pint of water, hammered down a Honey Stinger waffle, threw on my shoes, grabbed my Amphipod belt and headed out to meet the group.  I jogged it up to Engineer’s gate, getting there promptly at 7:28 am, and saw a couple of runners already there waiting.   As I stretched, I could feel how strong the sun was, the news mentioned triple-digits repeatedly heading into the weekend and I made sure to remind everyone to keep on their hydration and prepare accordingly.  How ironic.

Once the group assembled, I noticed I was missing my other pacer, but had others to help me out with keeping tabs on the group for this course (7 & 11-mile options), which included the East River Greenway path, as well as Ward’s and Randall’s Islands.  I enlisted a couple of regulars to help guide the 7-mile runners while I took care of running with a faster paced group and chalked the 11-mile route.  I just have to take a moment and thank Huge (aka Eugene) and Maura (aka @RunnerNYC) for their help this weekend; I couldn’t have done it without them.  Needless to say, the group ended up a bit spread out and I was forced to do some nifty shifting about to keep tabs on everyone whilst still marking the course and keeping everyone rolling.

After about 4-miles of running, which included starting with the faster pace group on the Greenway, connecting with the first group doing the 11-miler and heading onto Ward’s Island over the foot bridge, I start to feel like I need to piss like a race horse (I’m not really sure what that even means, come to think of it).  It’s hot out, but not terrible with the variable cloud cover overhead.  I head along the Southern tip of the island with a couple of runners chalking the turns as we go and then stop to hit the bathroom just North of a couple of soccer fields.  I get in there and there are no problems, all systems go.

I continue about my running duties, trying to catch up to the small group ahead of me, and start to feel a weird abdominal pain, a burning sort of feeling, like athletes foot of my intestines or something.  I keep on running and I start to feel like I have to pee again, not like, “eh, I can hold it,” but more like, “if someone is using the toilet right now I hope they are standing up otherwise they’re going to be taking a shower”-type of emergency bad!!  I finally catch the group and send them off on the final out-and-back section onto Randall’s Island and re-confirm the directions for those just arriving to do the section we just finished.  I start running again, looking desperately for a bathroom and see NOTHING.  Sadly there is no place to go and not a lot of places to hide with people walking their dogs along the paths or sunning themselves in the quiet “solitude” of the grassy areas along the route.  After about 200 meters I just can’t keep going without stopping and taking care of this as discreetly as possible.   I get to a pair of tall bushes, take a look around to make sure I don’t get in trouble, and just take care of it.  Um, Houston, I think we have a problem.  I barely go at all but feel a bit better … but for how long?

After making that very unexpected pit stop and yielding little to no result my brain quickly shifted gears to breaking down symptoms and some self-assessment as I ran to the nearest water fountain, which was well within eyeshot.  I get to the fountain and have some water, even though I’m not thirsty at all … wait, why am I not thirsty and it’s like 90-degrees and I’m running?  Yah, not good.  I looked down at my arms and I can see dried salt but I’m not really sweating anymore nor do I feel like it is particularly hot out, even though everyone I see is dying in the heat.  Once again, not good!  I start “running” again, and running needs to be in quotes, because I also notice that I am no longer really running, I’m more shuffling along … dammit, so not good.  I get about a quarter of a mile further, just over the footbridge onto Randall’s when the fire ants in my lower abdomen continue to pour molten lava through my tubing and I have to stop again to pee.  What the hell?!  This time it kinda hurts even to go and I know what I have to do next, but it will have to wait.

I make sure to catch my group, despite what was becoming an unbearable discomfort with every stride and once we finish the little out-and-back I stop so I can guide the last group correctly for this segment.  This time I duck off into the bushes and decide I need to see how bad the dehydration is, cause it shouldn’t be painful or with this feeling like I need to go every eight seconds.  Once in the bushes and out of sight I cup my hand and just piss into it so I can check the color.  Yes, this is pretty gross, but with neither a place to go, nor a means by which to assess the situation it was a necessary evil.  What I discovered much to my chagrin was that I was basically pissing Newcastle (I apologize for those that enjoy the Brown Ale).  In that moment, I was just really upset with myself and started working out the ‘why,’ but it was immaterial given the current situation.

This was the best color scale for what was going on. Sorry!

Knowing full-well what needed to be done I waited for my last runner to come through and I started jogging back with them, letting them know that I wasn’t feeling well and was going to just run home rather than head all the way back to Central Park.  She listened and simply told me, “I wasn’t going to say anything, but you really don’t look good.”

I cut the run short and struggle home.  I get in the door and right into the bathroom so I can really see what the color damage is and what is going on … this time, it was like nice red wine sangria, minus the fresh fruit … “CRAP!!  Is that blood?!“ My mind immediately went to the possibilities: 1) Dehydration 2) UTI 3) Delayed onset Syphilis (F-You House MD for making my mind go there!!!!).

Quick, Squatchman … to the Urgent Care!!!

I showered off quickly and I was off to the CityMD Urgent Care on East 86th street, which, if you’ve never been, is actually a pretty good place to go for such things.  It’s a clean, efficient and nice place to go by all accounts.  I rolled in there, checked in, sat for about three minutes and was brought right in to have my vital signs taken.  Blood pressure was good.  Temperature was a little low, but that’s normal for me.  The doctor told me I have an incredibly strong heart, which I was happy to hear, but to be honest I was more worried about my kidneys.  I explained everything to them and they said they’d need some urine and blood to go test.  I gave them their samples, this time I was more like Shipyard IPA (once again, apologies).

After a little while they informed me that, 1) It wasn’t a UTI or Syphilis (God, how I hate House MD), 2) It wasn’t Lupus, cause it’s never Lupus (thank you House MD), and 3)Likely what I was experiencing was heat exhaustion, dehydration and rhabdomyolysis.  The first of those two most people know, but the last one I needed explained.

Rhabdomyolosis “is the breakdown of muscle fibers that leads to the release of muscle fiber contents (myoglobin) into the bloodstream.  When muscle is damaged, a protein called myoglobin is relased into the bloodstream.  It is then filtered out of the body by the kidneys.  Myoglobin breaks down into substances that can damage kidney cells.”

So it wasn’t really blood in my urine, but this was still pretty distressing to hear, interesting but distressing.  Without further ado they tapped an IV on me.  Within about 20-minutes I started getting my color back, apparently I had started turning a little grey during the whole process.

When I was finally released I was told to hydrate like crazy and to keep tabs on my urine color and that they would call me with my test results later.  I did as I was told and my urine fluctuated for a while as my kidneys worked on filtering out all of the myoglobin that had built up.   I spent the rest of the day indoors with the a/c cranking and taking it easy.  Needless to say this was not what I had anticipated for a nice, slow Saturday morning long run.

What caused it?  A perfect storm of factors: my tempo run just 12-hours ago the night before in the crazy heat, not replenishing well enough afterwards, not doing my usual routine to prepare for a hot, sweaty run, not enough water before and during, and the heat the day of.  The culmination of all these factors got me some crazy colored pee and an IV.  Yuck.  Now, I have to deal with “no strenuous exercise for at least a week and continue to hydrate well,” as prescribed by the MD.  Kinda sucks, but it could be a lot worse.  Pretty thankful I had my whits about me enough to not make it any worse.

 

July 11, 2012   Category: Blog, nutrition, rhabdomyolosis, running, sasquatch   7 Comments comments

A Tale of Two Races

Two weeks, two completely different types of races and NO race report!  I am just the worst kind of blogger!  Regardless of my ineptitude at getting things posted Operation PFR12 is in full swing!!  Over the last several months I’ve been fighting to regain my mojo for running and racing, which, for whatever reason, I lost all excitement and taste for.  It was really disconcerting.  Then somewhere over these last couple of weeks it has come back with a vengeance and manifest itself in my brain as OpPFR12, the ultimate goal of which is to shatter every single PR I have on record no matter the distance.  I’m sure that when I hit that last one it will kick-start the apocalypse and I will just fall to the ground in a heap of Brooks Running gear and fur, like the cat from “Christmas Vacation”.  So, with this new focus locked and loaded the game was afoot and the NYC Half and Red Hook Crit 5k were in my sites.

The NYC Half was first up on my list, that lovely novelty race where you get to run through Time Square for about 3-minutes and then onto the dreaded West Side Highway (WSH) where more than a fair share of runner-bike collisions have occurred.  After falling short of my sub-1:20 goal at the RAK Half earlier this year, it was time to put my foot on the throat of this one and squeeze the life out of it.  In a bizarre twist of fate it was that squeezing feeling that nearly made the day a complete disaster!! Don’t worry I’ll get to that in a minute.

Race day morning went off without a hitch, all systems were nominal, or so I thought.  I met up with the Team JDRF crew as well as Team Sasquatch members Eissa and Robin, and the svelt looking Joe “Cardiac Crusher” Herman to loosen up and get ready to rumble.  Everyone was excited and with the conditions as prime as they were – overcast with a very comfortable cool temperature – why wouldn’t they be!  It was only moments after we all headed to our corrals that things started getting iffy.

Just as I headed to the Blue corral I started to feel like I was going to have to pee, which 99 out of 100 times is no big deal … I’m a guy and external plumbing has its advantages, especially in such situations, … but on this occasion no such luck.  When I got to my corral there were only four Porta-Johns, maybe five, but the lines were so thick and long that there was no way that I would ever get in one before the gun went off.  This situation got even worse because NYRR was extremely strict about their corral policy this go around and if you stepped out after the 30-min-before-the-start deadline you were sent to the open corral all the way at the back of the pack, which was not going to be optimal for hitting my goal time.  I looked for a bottle … no dice.  I thought about taking a knee and using the old on-the-pitch soccer trick, but there was absolutely no space to move around and I would have felt supremely guilty if I splashed on anyone.  Hahahahahaa … sorry, it’s funny to 1) think it, and 2) write it.  Can you imagine being the person that got splashed on?  What do you do?  What do you say?  Hahaha … not to mention, gross!  OK, enough of this tangent!

The gun fires, the race is on and a game time decision has to be made!  The plan is: if I see a Porta-John within the first mile or so, that lovely impossible, trafficky first mile, then I will hit the head and look to make up the time on the WSH.  So yah, that didn’t happen.  I started out solid on pace and was cranking by mile 3 and the knot was being tied as effectively as humanly possible.  Seriously, this was like running with an overfilled water balloon and someone is slowly sitting down on it just to see at what moment the walls give and I become 2 years old again and need some Huggies pull ups!  Mental note: test-drive a pair of Depends, ya know, for science.  Anyway, at mile 5 all fluids, besides sweat and spit, were being kept internally.  As we left Central Park I was feeling good about my prospects, but once we made the right hand turn on 42nd Street I started feeling my hips burning out from keeping my enemy at bay.  My options came down to two choices: 1) Suck it up and just keep going like this, clenching for dear life and running my butt off, or 2) Open the flood gates, hope it isn’t captured on camera and that it doesn’t soak my shoes or anyone within the splatter zone.

I chose option one and just fought it off for as long as I possibly could, all the while my hips fried and getting my legs and feet to behave was becoming more and more of an issue.  To complicate things a little further I hadn’t nor would I take any water or nutrition on the course out of fear that anything else added to tank would be the tipping point and force my hand to stop or just simply explode.  I passed Team Sasquatch teammates Matt and Steph at Chelsea Piers, complained about the situation, cause that is all I wanted to do at all, and just kept trucking. By the time I reached the last mile, which included going through a tunnel and an unwanted climb back up to street level, I had just enough left to try and kick it up and not get passed by the footfalls that I had been listening come up on me.  I pushed through the finish line PISSED, literally, at the fact that I didn’t deal with this stupid issue better, but that hostility didn’t last too long as I caught my time on my watch and the sub-1:20 PFR time was secured … 1:19:33 (6:04/mile).  Completely happy with the success of the moment, I went and found the nearest bathroom and competed for the Jimmy Dugan award for bathroom excellence!!

Fast forward a week and it was time to race again, this time a distance that I haven’t run in almost four years, a 5K.  Now, I’ve run the distance before, done tempo and threshold work for that distance, but a race?  Not so much.  Heading into the Red Hook Crit I was just having issues comprehending running basically balls to the wall for the full distance.  I just couldn’t wrap my head around it.  I’ve been running longer distances for so long that the idea of red lining for three miles was just beyond me and by the time I was a mile into the race it showed.

I have to admit, I loved this race.  It was well organized, fun, well supported, had a decent course (4 x .77-mile loop), a small field (170 runners) and it was at 8:00 pm.  Oh yah, there was also prizes for the fastest lap (also the worst part as that was unisex and not one for each gender), the top three teams and the top three finishers (male and female).  Even cooler, the first place prize money was given to the winner in a messenger bag full of $1 bills … MAKE IT RAIN!!!! Sadly, the winner, who I believe was Moroccan, had no idea what we were talking about and the awesomeness waned into the wailings of a sad trombone.

Getting back to the race, before the gun fired I took my place about two-thirds of the way back in the pack, something that I probably should not have.  The course was snug, I wanted to get out fast and there was no way the dudes in front of me were going to open it up at the gun.  Oh well.  The gun fired and I struggled to open things up with the wall of guys that just went about the course shoulder to shoulder.  About half way through the first lap the head wind slapped us a bit, but wasn’t enough to really slow anyone down.  The crowd along the course was fantastic, cheering for the duration of the race, which was awesome.

As I turned for the last quarter of the course I already saw the runners that went for the first lap award walking it off as they were totally gassed, a feeling that I was kind of starting to feel already, because how the hell do you pace this thing off?!  For the second lap I toned things down a little bit, cause I had to survive three more laps and I wasn’t sure if I could hold the pace.  When I hit the third lap I was finally in a good rhythm and picking off a few runners here and there.  The last lap I picked it up hard at the half way and was passing a few more, one of them I called out just trying to force myself to kick by goading them into a foot race.  I hit the timing mat and it was over!!!  My warm-up took longer than the whole race took to run!! That is just nuts and I finished no wiser than I started it.  Completely befuddled at how to approach that distance of a race, but appreciating that it is over before my brain has a chance to catch up.  Final time: 17:28 (5:37/mile).  Hit my PR, but this yet another one where I felt like I could do better on a course with fewer tight turns and a better grasp of my own pacing.  Oh well, there will be others.

Thus far in 2012 I’ve knocked off half-marathon and 5K PRs.  Next up, Cherry Blossom 10-miler in Washington DC.

 

March 30, 2012   Category: 1/2 Marathon, Blog, half-marathon, manhattan, new york, running, sasquatch   No Comments comments

Theirs not to reason why, Sasquatch but to Run Dubai

Half-way around the globe in a land bursting with materialistic insanity and sand – seriously, just malls, hotels and sand – I recently had the opportunity to race the world’s richest half marathon, the Ras al-Khaimah (RAK) Half-Marathon in the United Arab Emirates.  Had I ever thought about going to the Middle East to go and race on the Persian Gulf? Yah, like most of us just tossing the idea around our heads it had rattled around once or twice before, but never really stuck … or maybe people really do think about it and I’ve just reconfirmed the space oddity that I truly am.  Regardless, a Sasquatch ventured forth into the desert, raced, survived and is now here telling the tale whilst still picking the sand from his fur.

Prior to the race I flew into Dubai where I stayed with Team Sasquatch member and all around badass @Runs2NY, who will be running the grueling Marathon de Sables, a self-sustained 6-day race across the scorching Moroccan Sahara desert, a race routinely described as “The Toughest Race in the World.”  That race is just nuts and I am honored to have Kirsten as a runner, not to mention that I am in complete awe of her strength and determination.

Anyway, after the LONG flight over I had the privilege of experiencing the disgustingly drawn out customs process not only as part of my layover at Charles de Gaul in Paris, but also again once I hit Dubai.  God I love to queue!  Somehow I managed to choose the one line that never seemed to move, or did, but at a pace equivalent to a de-shelled snail sprinting for safety on a frozen metal sheet.  My attempt to enter the UAE reminded me of Lancelot running to the “rescue” in Quest for the Holy Grail, repetitiously traversing corridor after corridor, each as long, non-descript and mind-numbing as the one before it, featuring countless doorways that never lead to anything resembling the outdoors, and never getting anywhere.  But, as fate would have it, I did finally reach door number 27, which just so happened to magically slide open and instantly slap me in the face with a beautiful 70-degree, dry breeze.  After recovering from the initial shock that I would not be requiring additional layers to continue my journey I saw a handmade sign that read, “Speedy” and there was much rejoicing …  cue Sir Robin’s minstrels!!

The rest of the week leading up to the race was filled sites adorned with a vast assortment of superlatives.  To be completely honest, it became so tiresome that after this report I think I will retire from the use of the suffix –est.  The list is long, so here are the greatest hits (I swear, not going to use it ever again after this post):  Tallest building: Burj Kalifa.  World’s only 7-star hotel: Burj Al-Arab.  Largest mall:  Dubai Mall, with a ginormous aquarium, SEGA Zone, hockey rink, gold souk and pretty much every brand name you could ever possibly think of.  Mall with an indoor ski slope: Mall of the Emirates.   Seriously, I could go on and on about all of the weird ridiculous stuff that’s in Dubai, but you should really just go and see it for yourself even if only once, it is a pretty amazing place.

Personally, I found my other activities to be far more interesting than the materialistic commercial ones.  I ran the shores of the Persian Gulf just as the sun came up.  I rode an abra along Dubai creek with my now trusted travel companion “Rusty”.  I wandered the traditional and contemporary versions of a souk, or Arabic market.  Oh yah, and there is that whole richest half marathon in the world thing that I was working my way towards all week.  I will say this though, I’m thankful that I went during their winter, because being there when it is 120-degrees outside just sounds sooooo pleasant … my fur would instantaneously burst into flames and the smell of scorched wildebeest is not a cologne worth testing out, but then again Sexxx Panther is pretty amazing … 60-percent of the time it works EVERY time.

Getting back on task with the race itself, the wake-up call that morning was at approximately 04:00, and yes I’m using the international standard notation, because the “0” definitely stood for “OH MY F-ing GOD IT’S EARLY”.  Furthermore, my alarm clock had apparently been replaced with the loudest, annoyingest (just to throw another –est in there) sound ever!! It was soooo much worse than Lloyd Christmas’ meager attempt in Dumb and Dumber.  This remarkable auditory phenomenon of an “alarm” was the family dog and a stray feral cat having a beef outside my open bedroom window, which sounded more like a good watchdog barking at a leprous feline in heat being put through a petrol-less, stalling wood chipper.  Needless to say, when their bout erupted into the otherwise peaceful morning air I was up.  Aside from that, the morning was S.O.P. and then we jumped in the car for the hour-long ride out to Ras al-Khaimah

When we arrived at the start, the sky was adorned with a soft haze burned through with the shadowy imposition of the distant mountains silhouetted off in the distance.  We reached the start/finish area, the parking lot to yet another mall, and I hastily made a beeline for the loos, which were fantastic!!! No nasty Porta-Johns like we see here in the US, but rather nice, clean portable bathroom blocks with stalls and sinks!  They were glorious and made me wish that we had such fine facilities back home.  Anyway, when I came back out I realized that the 2-3 mph wind that the news had projected was a total farce and that the haze that I was seeing was actually particles of sand being blown around by the 15-20 mph winds with gusts around 25 mph or so.  Oh joy!  But honestly, this was par for the course for me lately.  Every long run and tempo/threshold workout I have done in 2012 has been just like this, the only difference here is the airborne desert making it that much more interesting.  I really wished I had the buff I got in my 2011 NYC Marathon schwag bag before I attempted my Tom Cruise Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol impersonation.

I went through my usual 15-minute warm-up routine along the first/last half-mile of the course before getting into the corrals and then it was go time. As the gun went off, I got myself in race mode and repeated the White She-Devil’s race plan in my head a few times and went to work.  For the first time ever I wore my Garmin 610 in a race, something which I am NOT a fan of, but since the course was marked at every 1km, instead of miles, I was going to have issues executing the plan and was thereby forced into wearing it.  The headwind seemed to have lightened up and my brain started looking forward to the back half of the race and having some nice wind assist to the finish line, which would be awesome.  Notice I said “would”, not “was”.

Mile 1 – 6:20

Mile 2 – 6:19

Mile 3 – 6:10

Mile 4 – 6:15

Mile 5 – 6:13

Mile 6 – 6:14

Mile 7 – 6:14

Mile 8 – …

Yah, so remember that head wind?  At mile 8 it slapped the ever loving sh*t out of me and everyone else on the course.  Everyone that I passed from that point on was cursing the weather gods and working so hard and getting so little reward.  The gusts were unruly, the sand was starting to fly with greater influence and the “fast” race RAK is known for was fading fast.

Mile 8 – 6:21

Mile 9 – 6:21

Mile 10 – 6:14

Mile 11 – 6:22

Mile 12 – 6:19

Mile 13 – …

The last mile and change the sand put me in my place.  I had enough of it in my mouth drop kicking my uvula that I felt like I was gargling a sand-cake a 2 year old makes at the park.  The conditions were officially testing the sensitivity of my gag reflex and seeing the finish line in the not too far off distance I decided to ease it back and NOT puke.  Mile 13 – 6:28.

I finished the RAK Half-Marathon in 1:23:20 (6:17 pace), 55th overall, 42nd male.   It was AWESOME that I could get my race certificate AT the race village, but sadly the medal stunk.  All in all, it was an experience and race that will live long in my memory and an opportunity that I will forever be grateful that I undertook.

 

February 26, 2012   Tags: , , ,
Category: 1/2 Marathon, Blog, half-marathon, running, sasquatch   1 Comment comments

From ER to PR: A Sasquatch Takes Vegas

Ah, Las Vegas … Sin City … the City of Lights …  a crossroads of human peculiarity closely resembling a cracked out, urban format version of ‘True Blood’ where the abs are replaced by copious amounts of cowboy hats.  Apparently marathon weekend also featured the rodeo and professional bull riding, so, needless to say too much more, this was a truly colorful and shapely people-watching weekend!  Regardless, Vegas was my A-race, the one that I sunk more blood, sweat and miles into than I have for any other race in nearly four years.  This was my fourth attempt at the sub-3-hour marathon, which has eluded by as little as 59-seconds and as much as 18-minutes.  But this time it was going to be different, right?  The work was done, conditions were prime, there was nothing standing in the way of my success, was there?

Four years ago I set my marathon PR during the Boston marathon, racing against my buddy Justin in a friendly bit of competition, I ran a 3:00:58, which was fantastic!  Why did I fall short then?  I calorie crashed late in the race, the timing of my nutrition was a bit off.  After that I flopped two more attempts, the next at the 2010 Chicago marathon, where I flopped horribly thanks to an extremely syrupy Gatorade mix that prompted an untimely, repetitious bout of regurgitation from miles 16 to 22 … finish time, 3:10:49.  My third strike came at the 2011 Boston marathon where, once again, errors in nutrition culminated in a less than spectacular finish time (3:16:18), but a fantastic story and finishing photo.  The most important thing for me to take away from all of these races was what I learned from my mistakes, right?  Of course!!  And you can bet your ass I did, but the learning curve was obviously quite a bit flatter than I would have hoped for … apparently I’m a little slow.  Now with all that fine learning and raceducation, what could possibly go wrong on attempt ole lucky number 4?!

Picture it, Massachusetts, Thanksgiving weekend, second week of taper and my eyes squarely focused on Las Vegas.  Strong.  Fit.  Fast.  Healthy.  Oh no … wait just one second … yah, about that last one, yaaaaaaaah, not so much.  While home with my entire family for the holiday weekend, my darling sister was sick with the black plague of upper respiratory infections, which I apparently contracted out of pure brotherly love.  As a result, I spent the bulk of that weekend just trying to sweat the damn thing out, laboring with a 102+ fever and looking like a mere shade of the healthy self that ran the Turkey Trot that Thursday morning bright and early.  Now, you may ask, “Did I still run that weekend?”  Ha! Please, you know I did, but it was a seriously cut down version of what I had planned on doing.  I mean seriously, you’d think that with my ridiculously congested lungs and lovely fever that that would be enough of an obstacle heading into race week for me to deal with, but I had no such luck, and this was soooooo far from over.

Tuesday morning rolls around, still battling this upper respiratory crap, and I wake up looking like friggin’ Eddie Murphy in ‘The Nutty Professor’ with a lower lip the size of a banana boat!  I really, really wish I was making this stuff up, but there it is!!!  After trying a few different ways of dealing with this apparent allergic reaction, to what I am still uncertain, I went to the ER where I was given steroids for the allergic reaction and then a potpourri of other drugs to deal with the chowder in my lungs and the lingering fever that just didn’t feel like leaving.  In the span of a week my body had gone from being primed for greatness to a pharmaceutical waste dump that could barely run half a mile without coughing up a pound or twos worth of globular mucous masses.  I was a hot mess and starting to FREAK out about race day.

Fast forward a few days and I’m staring to be on the mend, but the lungs are still pretty shoddy.  I get to Vegas on Friday night and it’s colder there than it is on the East Coast! What the hell is that all about?  To be fair, the weather conditions when I got there were pretty perfect, mid to high 50s with a light wind, that is until the following morning.  I get up for my shakeout run with an few 100m pick ups thrown in the mix and I end up running in a nippy 37-degree sunny morning with a 20-25 mph wind kicking around, just what I always wanted!!!! Regardless, my legs felt good and I was looking forward to meeting up with some Twitter folk for dinner that evening (@SkibbaDoo, @SugarMagnolia70, @CoachKristieLV, @Moonkinrunning, @_SilverGirl_, @SnowVols) and just having a chill night, which I did.  It really was pretty sweet.

Race day morning, just to add to the pressure of the weekend, my coach for this race, the White She-Devil (@le_diable), arrived to come and lay witness to her handiwork in person, or, in her words, “make sure you don’t f*ck up.”  We go grab breakfast at Einstein’s Bagels and review our race plan one more time.  While there she tells me about one of her friends that ran that morning, went out a smidge too fast, pushed their limits, buckled a bit in the last 10k, but threw everything she had at her race.  The story stuck with me and reaffirmed the validity of our plan for the day: don’t go out too fast, be patient through the first half, and make the second half of the race my bitch!!  Shortly after breakfast we went and met up with Jamie (@lucky7runner), a fellow Team Sasquatcher, and picked up a pair of arm sleeves from her, which I had asked her to grab while at the expo since it seemed like it was going to be a bit colder than I had prepared for (I will forever be in your debt Jamie).  I grabbed the sleeves, wished Jamie good luck in the half, and went upstairs to put my feet up until go time.

Time marched along quickly and it was soon time to get ready to rumble. I got changed, threw on some SERIOUS metal to get my head in the right brain space, did a few down and up dogs to stretch out my hips, calves and hamstrings, and then it was out onto Las Vegas Boulevard to get loose with WSD.  For those who know me, as serious as I do get pre-race I am still a goof, so imagining me skipping down the street doing my plyo-metric leg looseners, followed by a nice easy jog, is not all that odd.  After hitting the bathroom it was off to corral #2, which was a joke, because they didn’t check bibs or segregate the waves at all, and I saw my friend Jennifer (@jnnnln) all ready to go.  We not-so-stealthily edged our way forward and claimed our place in what then appeared to be the lead pack?  You really couldn’t tell at all and, in the end, who cared.?! They weren’t really paying attention to anything going on in the corrals.

BOOM!  The gun sounded and the time for wondering was over, it was time to see what I could do.

The first section of the marathon course randomly wove and braided through some weird “neighborhoods” and industrial park-like areas that were quiet, isolated, and with very little if any crowd support.  To be honest, I didn’t care at all, because I was on a mission and there wasn’t anything that was going to distract me from my objective.  Every once in a while on the course I saw the WSD running in the opposite direction, keeping me on task.  I kept the pace comfortable, smooth, and right in the vicinity we had talked about (6:40ish) through the first half, basically hanging with a small cluster of wily gentlemen that kept me in check.  Once I hit the half-marathon mark EVERYTHING changed and the gloves came off …

… and apparently so did the wheels for the race organizers as the Full marathoners collided with the Half runners, like a sweat swelled tsunami.  Interestingly enough, the half-marathon was supposed to start about 90-minutes AFTER the full, with the two merging and sharing Las Vegas Boulevard, etc., for the rest of the race.  Only problem was that the half started a little early and when I got to the merge, which was a sharp left, I literally slammed right into three or four people from the half running 8 or 9-minute miles that were pushing into the single lane delineated for the full.  I felt like the Blues Brothers driving through the city streets of Chicago the way people were slamming into each other all running down the finish line; it’s 13.1 miles to the finish line, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of endurolytes, it’s dark, and we’re wearing sunglasses. Some choice words were issued for me regarding my fore-checking skills, which I dutifully disregarded, and the race continued, albeit with a slight change in tone.  Honestly, I got so pissed off at the fact that the half was now greedily usurping the ENTIRE road that my nice 6:30ish pace I’d been holding erupted to more like a 6:10ish pace.  If I could have laid waste to all the people that had forced their way into the marathon lane, which was no larger than the Central Park bike lane, I would have.  I’m sorry, I’m usually not so aggressive about such things, but I was not going to let this logistical snafu jeopardize everything I worked for.

When I first signed up for this race I honestly thought running the strip would have been more fun, enjoying the pretty lights and interesting people, but I got in such a zone that everything else just disappeared and I just kept pushing.  For a time I had no idea where I was on the course, because there were at least 3-4 mile markers that were missing, but once I figured out where I was my thoughts returned to the story of the runner from that morning.  All I kept thinking about was that last 10k, “there is no way I am slowing down. Whatever I have left is going to be left on this course and slowing down is NOT an option.”

In the last 10k, I did slow a little, but not a lot.  The head wind that had picked up with about 7-miles to go was starting to wear on me, as was the long false flat that I had been staring at.  Within 2-miles of the finish everything was on fire, but I could see the Mandalay Bay was close and that meant the finish was not far from my grasp.  Those last 2-miles seemed to last FOREVER regardless of how hard I kept pushing, and, to be fair, I spoke with 3 people later on that had the course measured out a little more than a half-mile too long, based on their Garmins.  The last few turns to the finish line were horrible, but I was there and the clock read 2:50!!!!

As I crossed the finish line I tried catching my breath, but my lungs just wouldn’t allow it thanks to all the sludge and congestion and all I could do was cough.  Every step or two another violent cough, which started to worry me cause I was starting to feel a little light headed.  I took a second to gather myself and decided to go into the medical tent to warm my lungs up for a minute and see if that would help at all, which it did.  Sitting there in the empty tent it hadn’t even fully set in yet, I hadn’t even looked at my watch to see my time!!!

Victory NEVER felt so sweet!! Official finish time 2:50:29 (10:29 PR), 27th Overall Finisher, 25th Male, 7th in AG, and, a negative split on the back half that also was a half-marathon PR (1:26:08 first half, 1:24:21 second half).  The plan, the training, and the weather was pretty much perfect even if my health wasn’t and the night was mine to revel in!!

 

December 9, 2011   Category: 2011, Blog, marathon, nutrition, sasquatch   No Comments comments

All I wanted was RnR & got this 10K

Over the weekend I participated in the Rock n Roll New York 10k in Prospect Park in Brooklyn, the “Coolest city in the Country”. Now, my only previous experience with Rock n Roll races was the San Diego Marathon a couple of years ago as part of a relay team and that was kind of a nightmare, so I was interested to see how things went in my own back yard. This race was thrown into my schedule just to keep me racing and running under competitive conditions and because we couldn’t find a half-marathon reasonably close that fit my coaching and training schedule. Heading into it, my training with the White She-Devil was progressing quite nicely, the torture was consistent insane and, as I’ve mentioned before, I just did what I was told, but did have a little bit of a hitch in my giddy up thanks to some tightness in my right leg – a little in the hamstring and a little in the calf. Regardless, I went into Prospect Park with the intention of racing the race and seeing where I was physically.

To be honest, for the 36-hours prior to the race I really had no desire to go and race at all. I just wasn’t feeling it at all. It all started with packet pick-up on Friday night. I got there with my info in hand and had to stand in this crazy, long line at Super Runners Shop in midtown waiting to NOT get my bag or shirt, because they ran out, being squawked at by a couple of intense and totally flaky women whipping about. The only upside was that I could get my bib and timing tag so I wouldn’t have to deal with that crap in the morning. That whole experience was just unnerving and irritating in its inefficiency and psychosis, which left me wanting to do anything else but race in the morning. Sleeping, eating, and watching the EPL (English Premier League for those keeping score) was sounding so much more exciting and desirable than a 5 am wake-up call, a long ass Q train ride to the park, and a chilly morning’s gallop in short shorts.

Well, the insane air raid siren alarm goes off, I go through my routine and get my butt in gear and on the train. I spent the ride down, listening to The Haunted (so appropriate heading into the Halloween season), and reviewing the texting conversation between White She-Devil and myself about the pace plan for the race. It went something like this:

SS: Instructions for tomorrow?
WSD: Win
SS: Duh … of course?!
WSD: OK, but in all seriousness … Get a good warm-up, don’t go out too hard, race the 2nd half. Race it for real, it will give us good data.
SS: First mile split?
WSD: How do you feel about 6-6:10 range?
SS: Do I have to answer that? Fine. It shall be done.

Reading it again I couldn’t help but feel bullied into that pace, like Mouth coercing Chunk into the Truffle Shuffle in “The Goonies” … Come ON!!! Do IT! Come on. DO IT!! I changed into my PureFlow on the train and surveyed the mass of runners making the journey with me and was pretty impressed by the sheer quantity of people that paid like $75 for a 10k race and to get a really, really heavy medal!

Now, on my way to the starting area, I have to say, there was one thing that I saw that completely took me by surprise. I mean, seriously, there is nothing in the world that can prepare you for seeing two guys, seemingly boxers by the sweat suits and shadowboxing, running towards you one of which with a shake weight bouncing up and down in his two hands. Oh yah, this was something to behold, I tell you. I stopped walking, watched the two rather large gentlemen cruise by, and then just gawked at his form and technique using both hands on the shake weight while running. RIVETING!!

It took a while to shake that image from my head, but once it cleared and I dropped my bag, etc. I went through my 20-minute warm-up, as prescribed by WSD, and headed for my corral. Temps were pretty much perfect, I felt loose, but still skeptical about the race plan. At the sound of the start I eased into the race and just trying to find a nice rhythm and cadence while getting out of the thick of the pack, that lovely initial swell surging forward like an above ground pool bursting through one of its walls. First mile I just kept in check and found a runner to basically pace off of so I would have a fair measuring stick and, amazingly enough, basically did that mile to spec, 6:09. From there is just worked it rhythmically trying to stay comfortable and whenever my calf started getting pissy with me I backed it down a bit. First loop of the park was solid, then coming up the “big hill” for the second time my right leg was a little crankier about it, but the second I cleared the hill and the pitch of the road dipped I felt completely fine again and just kept my foot on the gas, which was pretty much a 5:53 pace (WSD wanted me to be sure to point that out).

The last 2-miles were spent chasing down the same two people, a really nice Kiwi (New Zealander for those requiring an explanation) and a dude in a long sleeved black shirt. The three of us basically took turns pushing the group, rotating from lead to back of the pack, all the way until the last 800-meters when I decided that I’d had enough of that. I went from the back of our little pack to the front and just closed the damn race out. After crossing the finish line I immediately turned around and slapped five and shook the hands of the other two and thanked them for keeping me honest for the last couple of miles. When I looked down at my watch and was kind of disappointed, solely due to the fact that I had run a 37:07 PR at the Cow Harbor 10k not long ago and I had just done a 37:09. Oh well, they won’t ALL be PRs and this was NOT my goal race, so I moved on.

I got my bag, then the shirt that they didn’t have for me the night before and went to watch some of my friends finish up and see how they did. Unlike the majority of people at the race, I had no real issue with gear check, I also refused to use the RnR back pack bag that they gave out, because I wanted something much more recognizable and different so I could retrieve it easily. But, once my friends finished up and they went to get their gear, HOLY CRAP was it a complete cluster f*ck!!! Lines for each truck were really long, there was only one person or maybe two staffers on the truck retrieving them and absolutely NO discernible system for their storage. All the bags were just in heaps to be tossed and sorted through, just awful! OY!!! RnR, ya might want to get it together with the organizing and logistics, this is not the first time I’ve experienced this with you guys!

All in all it was a successful race day where I finished better than I have in a New York race ever and actually won my age group for the first time since I did a random 5-miler in MA when I was 15 years old. Final stats were as follows: Finished in 37:09, 25/4305, 20th male, 1st in division.

 

October 25, 2011   Category: 10k, Blog, Brooks, Flow, running, sasquatch, training   1 Comment comments

From Fall-icle to Furball

As seems to be standard operating procedure for us bipedals, Sasquatch included, when the Earth completes a full orbital revolution of the Sun we must take a moment and assess ourselves, reviewing our primary action items, and gauge our overall status on this plane of existence.  I know, DEEP.  Well, I was recently asked about my running past and how the hell I got to where I am now and in my recollection of it all I realized I have yet to truly tell the tale.  Honestly, it was hardly an epic journey, but it was certainly more amusing in the retelling than I had previously thought.  And so, without any further introduction, From Fall-icle to Furball!

Picture it, the Upper West Side of Manhattan, 2004, in a bizarre twist of fate, the job that was going to keep me in New York is stripped from me before it really even started, as my fickle employers decided to cut our entire department after only two weeks sending my boss, myself, and three others scrambling to find alternative employment.  It wasn’t something I could’ve foreseen, but was nonetheless an unavoidable disaster, which put me in the throws of a very unhealthy depression.  What kind of unhealthy, you ask?  Why, one that was full of large quantities of food, a ridiculous contribution to Coca-Cola’s profit margin, a well-pronounced love affair with baked goods, and an amazing coaching record on FIFA for PS2 (Viperz FC dominated all of Europe). It was an epic fall that sucked the life force clear out of me.

In the wake of that employment disaster I found myself living with DG (you’ll get no more than that about her), coaching soccer on the weekends, editing grad school and thesis papers, and spending the bulk of my week employed, using the appropriate neologism, as a Manny.  Oh yah, it was baller!  Hanging out with a 6-year-old boy with an incredible brain for science and nerdiness was actually pretty friggin’ awesome.  Well, in addition to my descent into a life of odd jobs, I also stopped being active, really not doing more than the little bit of soccer I played with my 2-8-year-old classes.  Needless to say, the only thing that I was gaining was girth … topping off at a delicious 236 lbs of pure Sasquatchian laziness after about 9-months!! You don’t believe me?! Check out the photographic evidence below!

Now, as fate would have it, DG, who had NEVER even been a participant in a gym class in her entire life, decides to join a club called “Marathon Running” at school for credit.  I swear on my life it’s true.  I couldn’t make this up in million years.  Anyway, once she got into a bit her asthma, which had plagued her entire childhood, teen, and young adult life appeared to have disappeared!  With a new found love for cardiovascular exercise she got a bit cocky and seeing this mass of humanity flopped on the couch that once been a runner, she wielded the most lethal three-word attack anyone can throw down … the infamous triple dog dare.  She dared me to race her at her next race (a 4-miler)!  Oh yah, apparently playtime was over and go-time was next in line!  What ensued was a battle of the sexes with the evocative power of that “Who broke my window” ad from the 80’s.

With the gauntlet thrown and DG now completely obsessed with this “club” and training, I was going to have to actually extract myself from the mold I had created with my big, stupid body and actually start running again.  Just for a little background, I did run the previous two years while at Columbia, just to keep from becoming a complete lunatic (partial is always acceptable), but only say 3-5 miles during the week, or I played basketball in Riverside Park if the weather was nice.  That being said, the first run I went on after my athletic hiatus was a humbling, humbling experience.  I was so used to running faster and carrying less weight that I went out and just ran like I used to and, let me tell you, my legs, lungs, and sweat glands did NOT appreciate it whatsoever.  I remember getting to the Park without any issue whatsoever, like a gazelle bounding across the plain, but that was short lived and within 2-miles I became the gazelle that was mauled by gang of lions and was now a pride snack, basted in a 3-week old rotten bacon scented sasquatch sweat (yah, I smelled absolutely delectable).  As I rolled the door, thankfully to an empty apartment, I put my keys away and sat on the floor to “stretch”, but I decided that corpse pose was a better idea.  The next day was worse as my olde friend DOMS (Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness) decided to come by and have a chat with every muscle fiber of my body and tell them all to eat more sh*t and die! Fortunately this didn’t persist and things did get better.

We finally hit race day several weeks later and squared off as equals.  Really, it was quite tastefully done.  We each went to our own corral and ran our own race and tried our very hardest.  Of course, I wasn’t quite trained up enough yet AND I had never run a NYRR race since living in New York, so when the gun went and everyone started I get caught up in the swell and just went after it, like a guy sprinting for water after eating a whole dried poblano.  That first mile was agony, sweating bullets, everything on fire, praying for unicorns to come pee on me and take the pain away (put that in there just for you Sharon), but there was still three miles to go.  I fought through and crossed the finish line where I proceeded to quickly step to the side and try not to vomit on myself or anyone else! Two minutes later, still dry heaving and pale, DG comes through the finish line looking like she was ready to toe the line again in five minutes, eyes glistening, huge smile, and barely breathing heavy.  The race was mine … but man did I look like crap!!!

So, how did I get into running? A triple dog dare bet with a girl!!! On that race day I ran 4-miles in 33:32 and just a couple of weeks ago I ran a 10k in 37:07.  A lot has changed since that bet and what a wild ride it’s been!!

 

October 1, 2011   Tags: , ,
Category: Blog, sasquatch, training   3 Comments comments

The Cow Says, “MOOOOOve it!”

I cannot tell you the last time I was nervous before a race, legitimately and horrifyingly nervous. You know what I’m talking about, the good kind where you’re standing there in the thick of your corral looking at everyone stretching, putting on their game faces and sizing up all of the competition. During my soccering (proper footballing) years, I was notorious for being substituted briefly, going to the sideline just out of sight, and puking from sheer nerves. So, as my stomach gnomes broke out the glow sticks, bumped the industrial techno, and began raving on in “The Core” (the baddest club in the land) I was toeing the line of the 34th Cow Harbor 10K in Northport, Long Island hoping to keep my modest breakfast in its appropriate location. If only everyone at the start line knew that was going on I think most people would’ve stood a little further away from me.

Cow Harbor 10k Elevation Chart

A little background and perspective to this morning’s race, number one, this is the first time I’ve raced a 10k in two years, a fact that I had to look up to be certain it was even true. Yep, two years, and the last time I did it was this very same race. Secondly, my 10k PR time was set on this course three years ago with a mark of 38:44 (6:15/mile), which put me 6th in my age group and 74/4183. Thirdly, the course has two notable hills that kinda knock the stuffing out of you a little bit, one leading into mile two and the other right around mile 5, but the finish is fast (Check the course out below). Lastly, having discussed the race with the White She-Devil and reviewing her expectations, aka “our plan”, for the race I got a wee bit intimidated by it all. With all that being said, I felt a considerable amount of pressure given the intensity and volume of the training I’ve been hammering out, my previous finish time, and the expectations of a diminutive and dominating divinity foreseeing furiously fast furry feet the likes of which I have not experienced in some time … so yah, this had all the earmarks of a fantastical and epic panic attack … or, stress induced regurgitation … either way pretty exciting!

As we return to the starting line, the bulk of my energy was being spent trying to ignore those goddamn party monster stomach gnomes and focus on the task at hand. During the week I debated the pros and cons of wearing my Garmin for the race and decided that Lil’ Bastard (yes, that’s its name) had no place on this course and bailed on it. I honestly would not have been able to deal with the 1-mile auto-lap beeping randomly before or after the course mile markers I’d likely pitch a curse-laden tantrum amidst a troop of Boyscout volunteers if it auto-lapped before or after the course mile markers. I wanted a clear head focused on the task at hand without any watch obsession or obnoxious jingling. In correlation with this maneuver I also decided to simplify the race plan to one my brother and I mastered after years of flawless execution during our ridiculous soccering days … the plan, simple: JUST GO! Stop thinking, stop questioning, stop fearing, and JUST GO!!!

When the starting gun fired sending out my wave, just a minute behind the elites, I let myself drift into the middle and then the back of the pack as everyone just gunned it. After the first turn my legs loosened up a little more and then it was go time. We went a small incline, which dipped right into a nice steep, long down hill that far too many of the other runners were hitting the breaks on. After a brief section of flats we reached my favorite part of the race, the hill!!! Now, there are two of them on this course that are just mean and nasty, but the first one is the creme de la creme, big, bold, and beautiful! This thing usually takes the stuffing out of everyone and it almost had me this time as I tried to almost sprint up it. Right at the apex I could feel myself start to cave, but I pumped my arms out, crested, and kept pumping away to maintain my pace and recover. After that, the rest of the race was pretty much a blur where I simply listened to the clock watchers at the mile markers, subtracted my 1-minute, and just kept cranking … that is until the hill that Squatch forgot!

In the last mile and a half or so there is one more hill that is short and a kinda, sorta steep, but not too bad. What makes this hill such a pain is its placement, because you have been hammering out those middle miles and then all of a sudden hit this stunner. It kinda sucked, but it did provide me with the opportunity to catch a few more guys. After we crested these three fine gentlemen and myself went back and forth pushing the pace and coasting, battling for position into the home stretch. Only problem with that was I couldn’t quite remember how far out we were, how fast we were going, or how soon we would get there. I was completely flummoxed. The fact that I hadn’t run that distance as hard as I was at the moment made it seemingly impossible for me to determine what was left. Yep, I may be developmentally disabled … believe it.

Anyway, as I continued to push along with these three gents I finally see the finish line and start to push the pack, one by one watching them fade. Not gonna lie, kind of awesome when it actually happens. About 400m from the finish one of them makes a last ditch effort to pass me, but the second I hear his feet hammering just behind me on my left I put the hammer down and finish it. Fears un-realized. Demons exorcised. PR verified. I clocked in at 37:07 (5:59 pace), 6th in my AG, and 47th overall. I think I achieved the White She-Devil’s seal of approval with that performance, but who can really say, she is quite small. There was one truly interesting moment, a little chest puffing moment if you will, where I was talking to this guy just passed the finish line and he started getting on me that I was definitely in the wrong corral and should’ve started with him and the other elites. Admittedly, I kinda dug that stern talking to. Regardless, I officially broke a barrier I had yet to at a race with that sub-6 paced finish and felt like I still had some speed to burn. Enough reveling in this success, back to the mines and the training plan … I swear, some of the stuff on this thing is designed so White She-Devil can just watch me die slowly. Lots more to come as this quest for the elusive sub-3-hour marathon continues.

 

September 22, 2011   Category: Blog, running, sasquatch, speed   No Comments comments

My Life as a Minion of the White She-Devil

In the late 1920s, a young man by the name of Robert Johnson found himself at the crossroads by the Dockery Plantation in Mississippi and, in a very Faustian move, sold his soul to the Devil to become a great blues guitar player and songwriter. In 2011, a furry Sasquatch walked out to crossroads by Tavern on the Green in New York early on a Wednesday evening and sold his soul to become a stronger, faster runner. The exchange was quick, painless at first, and without any hesitation. He agreed to do everything that was asked of him to the very letter as it would be written and would put forth an effort worthy of their praise. It was in that moment under a blood red sky quickly fading to the velvet Elvis-y night, that the Speedy Sasquatch became a minion of the White She-Devil.

It’s been a while since I have been happy with my training. I’ve put so much time and effort into getting the Team Sasquatch crew ready for their various events that I just lost that focus and drive. Over the last couple of months that desire for acid-filled legs, fiery lungs, and body-collapsing exertion has returned and, as a result, I decided it was time to take things even a step further and really make myself accountable for the goal I’m after … I got a coach. I know that I could write a plan for myself and go that route, but, honestly, I’m a little tired of writing plans and just wanted to be told what to do, no thinking at all, just do. It’s been a few years since I’ve had a coach, and yes I do realize that I am a coach, but, like any good psychiatrist has a shrink of their own, I knew I needed someone to keep me accountable and ask more of me than I would ask of myself. Enter the White She-Devil.

Her credentials speak for themselves, as does her incredible spirit and generosity, especially taking on someone as pig headed and whiney as myself. OK, I don’t really whine that much, it’s more of a “please, mistress, may I have another”-type whining. She asked me all the right questions: What’s your schedule like? How many miles max? Are there any injuries or restrictions that should be noted? Do you wear really short shorts? What’s your PR? Knowing full-well what I want to do, I simply responded, “No injuries, no restrictions, just tell me what to do and it will get done.” I swear, the moment the words slipped from my lips I could see my signature appear in blood on a dotted line in her head and the nicest, most genuine sadistic smile washed over her face.

Having signed away my training life it is now my duty to chronicle it all from now till I toe the line in Sin City (how friggin’ appropriate). According to my overlord and master, WSD, we’re dividing the training into two sections, one that is higher intensity and speed-work-based and then a slightly more traditional marathon training approach, all the while maintaining my 3 weekly group runs with Team Sasquatch, the JDRF NYC marathon team, and the Paragon Sports Saturday Long Run group. With that being said, and without further ado …

My Life as a Minion: Week #1:

It was my understanding, as told to me by my overlord, that week one was going to be on the easier side and that I needed to be mindful that my “easy” runs were in fact that, something that I had a real issue with last year, but have since remedied. Looking at my schedule for the week it looked really good and was ready to step up to the challenge.

Monday, I had a choice of resting a, an easy 60-min run or swimming, so I chose to do the latter two! Yah, I might have been a little overzealous so I did them both and did some light weight work and core. To be fair, I am so completely intimidated by the White She-Devil I may have gotten a little ahead myself, but that intimidation is good, it will likely continue to bring the best out in my running.

Mon. Summary: 1,200 yard swim, weights and core in the morning session; 8-miles in 60-minutes for the evening session.

Since I’m always running with the Team Sasquatch and JDRF crews on Tuesdays, WSD simply had me do my usual, albeit keeping it on the lighter end of the spectrum, and then doing some additional work afterwards. For this Tuesday she had prescribed 4 sets of 10-sec hill striders to be done after the group workout, which was timed fartleks. I took it easy with the group and after core with them ventured off to Cat Hill for my striders. She reminded me to be aware of my form, foot strike, and posture and that once my legs wake up and muscles start firing I should be able to go farther with each repetition, which was 100% accurate. First one sucked and I mistimed it and went too far, but I nailed the others and definitely felt stronger with each one.

Tue. Summary: 8.68 miles consisting of warm up, timed fartleks, hill striders, and cool down.

Wednesday brought me back to the pool and the gym for weight work in the morning, which was lovely, but due to senior citizen manatees in the fast lane I had to cut my swim a bit short. The evening workout was 60-minutes [20-min warm up, 30-min of pick-ups on the 3s, and a 10-min cool down], which was actually pretty sweet. The pick-ups are short and controlled at a 5k pace and recoveries nice and mellow. Nothing fancy, just a solid workout.

Wed Summary: 1,000 yard swim, weights, and core in the morning session; 8.00 miles with pick-ups for the evening session.

Thursday was especially simple; just do what the Team was doing. Yah, pretty sure I wasn’t going to screw that one up.

Thu. Summary: 9 miles, including warm-up, 5-mile progression, and cool down.

Friday morning’s workout is when I started to really feel it all and realize how real this was going to be. One of the things I absolutely dread doing is workouts within 12-hours of one another and it was at about 6:30 am that I realized that this was now going to be a fairly regular occurrence. So, after the 9-miles last night, I was now going to be attempting a “Steazy Mid-distance run for 70-80-minutes” … and my legs instantly went to the words of the Virgin Mary, “Come again?” Apparently the “Steazy” portion is defined as pacing somewhere between Easy and Steady, which is more or less a mid-tier tempo run, right? I think. Maybe. Well, that’s what I did and my legs totally hated me for the early miles and I was really happy my brain wouldn’t let me drop my pace later on. A little pride never hurts, except maybe your legs on a morning such as this. It wasn’t pretty and I only could do an hour and ten due to time constraints, but I got it done.

Fri. Summary: 9-miles of unpleasantness @ 7:10-20 pace.

As I hit the weekend I had kinda forgot to check my schedule, because I have my usual Saturday long run group with Paragon Sports and the rest of my crew and the mileage was set, but OF COURSE WSD had her own ideas and had me doing striders in the midst of the mileage. The fantastic group run went south through Summer Streets, over the Brooklyn Bridge and back, out to the West Side Highway, across 72nd street and into Central Park for a lower loop, totaling 16-miles.

Sat. Summary: 16-miles with the group & 6 sets of 10-second flat striders on the course, because the boss said so.

And now, to conclude my week I had a long run workout that I was really unsure of whether I was going to be able to pull it off to spec. The profile for the run was this: 30-min easy, 15 x 1-min @ 6:00-30 pace, 20-min easy, then progression run till I hit 14 miles, working down to 7:00 pace. It was humid as hell Sunday morning and after wishing runners well for the NYRR Long Run #2 I went to the Bridle Path and played in the dirt for the duration of the first 2 segments of the workout. The 1-min pick-ups were a little daunting with the 16 miles from the day before still lingering in them, but I managed to hit all my marks. The easy recovery felt like death, but I kept a nice steady pace. For the progression portion I got back on the road and did a lower loop and then back up East Drive to finish the 14-miles. I really didn’t think I was going to be able to bring the pace on down as dictated, but I managed to nail them and finished with the last mile at 6:50 pace. For the first time in a while I went ahead and ice bathed, which turned out to be a very good idea, because my legs felt like they were bursting with lava from the fiery pits of Hell!!!

Sun. Summary: 14-miles of vicious brutality on dead legs.

Week #1 Total Mileage = 71

Can’t wait for next week … I think … maybe … perhaps … it’s up for discussion.

 

August 24, 2011   Category: 2011, Blog, running, sasquatch, training   1 Comment comments

2011 Boston Marathon: More Than A Race

When I look back at my experience at the 2011 Boston Marathon and try to find the words to adequately convey all that transpired I’ve been at a loss. What transpired on April 18th fell well short of expectation yet far beyond anything I could have ever imagined. Happiness and bliss, heartbreak and sorrow, pain and peace, a myriad of descriptors ineptly fall from my lips giving no credence to a day that truly deserves more, so in order to give voice to the inexpressible I shall borrow from one whose words are far superior to my own and resonate with the story still to follow:

“The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places”

– Ernest Hemmingway.

Heading into race weekend, as I mentioned in my previous post, my nerves were getting the best of me mentally, but physically I felt good to go. My two runs up by my parent’s house were smooth, relaxed and completely comfortable. Mechanically I felt sound, I was on my home turf, and I had the support of my family and friends that were going to be out on the course. Those two days prior to the race went almost entirely according to plan, which should have been my first clue that something was going to go awry, because in the Sasquatch family nothing ever, and I do mean ever, goes the way we plan for it to. The night before the race my travel companions, Eissa and Elyssa, and I made the trip south into the City and little by little I felt the tight knit confidence I had built up over those couple of days slacken and begin to unravel.

That evening became an unfortunate comedy of errors, where we made a slight miscalculation in the reading of the address for the apartment we were staying at. We were on the right street, only about 400 numbers and a couple of miles away on a night when bars were just starting to empty as Ray Allen drained the Celtics’ game winning three-ball with seconds on the clock, so grabbing a cab was an adventure all its own. Once we finally got ourselves situated, I’d say settled, but I just wasn’t, I simply laid there staring out the window from the couch where I was “sleeping” and just kept fidgeting and fidgeting, freaking myself out that I wouldn’t hear my alarm or I’d go get dressed and realize that I forgot something essential. Those are the things one comes to expect on the night before a big race, but what weighed on my mind the most had nothing to do with logistics or preparedness, it was about disappointment. Not anything physical, but rather a feeling heading into the race, a pressure that I had slowly been piling upon myself all week long and now my chest was feeling the full burden and displacement of that weight on the race still to come.

I wanted nothing more than for Boston to be the culmination of what was an amazing spring season for everyone on Team Sasquatch, a moment where I was no longer a coach but just a runner amongst 26,000 others careening through the streets of Massachusetts. But, in a moment of unequivocal shock and fear I felt as if I was stripped bare beneath a single spotlight on a dark stage with the eyes of the world trained on my every moment. A little dramatic in interpretation? Yes, absolutely, but the fear that was swelling within my chest that I would not be able to put forth an effort worthy of my Team, my family, Maddy’s son Stone, everyone that donated to my fund-raising, and my own pride was so much so that there is no other way I can describe it. I could feel myself buckling beneath the Atlas weight my mind had cultivated and I just continued to stare watching the night sky absorb the last shades of mercury and cobalt in its black velvet cloak.

I was greeted into the new day with the jarring and unbelievably annoying shriek of the air-raid alarm on my new iPhone, which I have learned to love and hate. My morning routine went without incident, but I was still on edge and extremely jittery. I ate, all bathroom issues were resolved, all my gear was accounted for, the only thing that was even remotely in question was whether or not to wear a sleeveless base layer underneath my race shirt, which I spent the day before writing all the names of the contributors to my JDRF fund-raising on. After being outside for a while and feeling the briskness of the wind, which had blown all the flags straight, for the duration of the morning I decided that being a little warmer was a good idea. This was the first mistake of the day.

As the race began I stripped off my throwaway shirt and settled in with the rapacious hoard in wave 1 corral 5 that seemed to consume the entire roadway. Why wasn’t there enough room for people to get into the corral? I have no idea, but it was a mess. The never-ending mass of humanity amoebically swelled and surged forward and as I crossed the start mat I finally began to relax a bit, at least mentally. Unfortunately, and much to my chagrin, I could still feel the tension and stress in my ribs. The first mile few miles were good and slow, which was exactly to plan, and when I hit the 5k mark I had pretty well settled in pace-wise, but it just wasn’t clean and fluid. The tautness in my chest felt like two big hands threading their fingers between my ribs and pressing on my lungs. What was worse was that my legs felt a bit stiff, something I thought would just work itself out over those early miles, but apparently I was mistaken. So, on the one hand my head was a lot clearer, on the other my body had lingering doubts.

Shortly after the 10k mark I was up to speed and was holding a nice steady pace, but I was feeling like crap and now the day was starting to heat up. Somewhere along that stretch I tossed off my nice lined pair of Pearl arm sleeves, which was oh so refreshing, but that was far from the end of my mid-run tear down. A little further along my shorts became a phenomenally useful storage receptacle with my favorite hat being shoved into my crotch and then my wonderful Sugoi gloves jammed in the back. This is significant, because when it finally came time to strip off the nice Falke base layer, which I thought I was going to need for the duration of the race, at mile 8 there wasn’t any storage space left in my newly developed Swiss Army shorts. What soon followed was my runner’s interpretation of a woman taking her bra off without removing her shirt and I’m not gonna lie, the bra trick is far cooler and more fun to witness than watching the missing link trying to maintain a 6:50 mile whilst stripping a fitted base layer from under a singlet. It was an ugly piece of mobile performance art that a few poor souls running behind me enjoyed, highlighted with a guffaw or three. Once I was free from that sleeveless Bastille I felt so much better, but the damage may have already been done.

As we hit the “Tunnel of Love” two things became abundantly clear: #1) the bulge in my shorts was completely unnatural and oddly misshapen, and #2) the rest of the day was going to be a battle. The pressure in my chest was still present (albeit to a lesser degree), my abstinent legs begrudgingly continued to turn over, but I was still getting my nutrition in and holding the pace I wanted, so it couldn’t be that bad, right? Exactly! So I held on, I kept on cranking, but it didn’t last as long as I would have hoped. Around mile 16 I went to continue my nutrition regiment and realized the potential for an occurrence of the Inverse Newton Law – what goes down must come up – was a serious, serious possibility and I decided to pass on any sort of force feeding … another error.

Right after the 30k mark, the fade was on, like a ‘Jersey Shore’ trip to the barber. My legs were asking questions I didn’t have the answers to, my stomach was agitated with the needle buried below ‘E’, and for such a lovely sunny day, the clouds were starting to roll in around my head. Somewhere just past Heartbreak Hill the World began to spin ever so slightly and I knew that if I was going to finish I had to stop and shake that off. Shortly after cresting the hill on the downward slope I tried to hit the reset button and bring everything back together. The walk was brief and it helper clear the cobwebs, but it didn’t last. Within the next mile I had to do it again, and then again, and then the time between each stop became shorter and shorter. As I felt my body begin to knot up from the stop and go I took one final look at my watch and saw that my goal was gone, this was not going to be the day I had so hoped it would be.

I kept moving and the more I thought about the goal I worked towards all winter, no matter the weather, watching it slipping away I felt a little piece of myself break. I listened to the crowd pushing me to carry on, to get my legs turning over again and I did, but as my pace and finishing time continued to slip I took a deep breath, looked about the course, and decided to make something of what time and distance that remained by helping whomever I could. There was nothing for me to prove by forcing the issue, but I could help others who still had their goals in sight. I started talking to everyone around me, encouraging them to push a little longer, to find their feet and fight their way to the finish. My walk breaks became strategically placed in locations where others were walking, fighting off cramps, really anywhere there was an opportunity I could do something for someone else to get them to the finish line.

Then, right after making the final left hand turn onto Boylston Street, bringing the finish line into full focus, I felt my legs under me and was just going to push it out until I saw this guy shouldering a taller fellow along the course. Seeing the smaller Irishman awkwardly carrying the much taller gentleman, who was almost completely out on his feet, I stopped and asked if he wanted a hand. He said that he was OK and that I should push on, but I told him my goal was long gone and that he looked like he could really use the help. I stepped in and took the man’s other arm and we started working our way towards the finish line.

As I leaned in and took the man’s other arm, in broken, vomit laden English, he asked me my name, to which I replied, but when I asked him his I’m pretty sure his synapses decided to take a breather and the Irishman filled in saying his name was “Don”. I have no idea why I can’t remember the name of the Irishman. I really should know, because I talked to him long after the race was over. I digress. We slowly ambled along the race route, Don’s legs just barely bearing any weight, and I called out to the grand stand waving my other arm to get them cheering him in, hoping that that would help wake him up a bit. We hit the finish line mat at 3:16:18, about three feet from a guy who had just proposed to his fiancé, and we hauled Don over to a medic with a wheel chair. The Irishman and I shook hands and congratulated one another as we walked on.

Looking back on all that transpired on the course, completely ignoring my finish time, this may be the best race I have ever run. My time was far from what it should have been and the world did break me, but I am so happy and proud of what I did in that broken place that I think this may have been my best race to date. This one was for Stone and Maddy Hubbard, you guys are amazing, and I hope the effort I put forth is worthy of your names and all of those that appeared on my back.

 

May 3, 2011   Category: Blog, boston, boston marathon, Navigation, running, sasquatch, training, Twitter   4 Comments comments

The Sasquatch vs. The Fly: 10K Main Event

T’was a week ago this Saturday
A most beautiful morning I have to say
One perfect to run a blistering pace
With a sinister smile upon my face
During the Healthy Kidney 10k.
I was sure that I would dominate the whole way
Sprinting up hills while others just faded away
But as it would be
Something happened to me
And this wasn’t to be my day.
All was well during miles 1 to 3
Unleashing my legs and setting them free
Laying waste to the Central Park course
Like an unstoppable Sasquatchian force
But what happened next who could foresee.
Then somewhere between miles 3 and 4
I was assaulted by something I now abhor
T’was a tiny, insignificant little fly
One that my eye simply couldn’t spy
And, yes, you could say I’m a bit sore.
The little bastard turned kamikaze
And proceeded to fly directly at me
Steadily running 6:15s heading south
He took aim at my open mouth
And proceeded to exercise its hostility.
WHAM! A direct hit!
And my body was thrown into a fit
I began to dry heave and gag
Doubled over, I began to sag
Firing off round after round of spit.
To the man looking at me with a curious eye
I pointed to my mouth gasping, “Fly!”
He had no idea what I was saying
With the grotesqueness I was displaying
Which is too bad cause I felt like I could die!
Once I pulled myself together
It was time to decide whether
I should fight to regain my goal
The one the fly so villainously stole
Or if I had reached the end of my tether.
It was impossible to deny
The efficacy of the fly
And his attack on me
Which quite obviously
Made my body completely fry.
As I fought to regain my previous pace
I was then forced to face
The inevitable truth of the matter
That my stride could get no flatter
And this was not going to be my race.
My body felt totally tapped
My race plan completely scrapped
But I battled on right through the finish line
Cursing the fly’s damn bee-line
Still feeling like complete crap.
I finished in 40:41
But my work was far from done
As I turned back onto the course
Cheering a tour de force
Enjoying this fun in the sun.
So what does one learn from such a tale
Of running bliss, despite the fail
To always keep a watchful eye
For the next errant, vindictive fly
And its overwhelming desire to assail!
 

May 21, 2010   Category: 1/2 Marathon, 10k, Blog, running, sasquatch, training   2 Comments comments

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